


one summer turns into ten summers

by jemmasleopold



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Merpeople
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasleopold/pseuds/jemmasleopold
Summary: She ghosts her fingers across the surface of the water, swaying along with the waves that lap at her legs, and she closes her eyes, finding a harmony with the sea she knows will be there.When she opens them, she sees something.It’s far away, and though Jemma can hardly make it out, she knows what she sees. It is a flash of blue, bluer than the ocean itself. It flaps and flails against the current, nothing like she has read about before.(Jemma chases after a merman. Neither about Jemma nor the merman, this story is about the chase.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Portugal by Walk the Moon.

 

* * *

_What you don't know now,_  
_one day you will learn._  
_Growing up is a heavy leaf to turn._

* * *

Young Jemma Simmons has high expectations for someone her age. The day her mother agrees to take her to the beach for the day, she is excited. They stuff everything they can into what little of a trunk they have: towels; a cooler that was the width of the car itself, brimming with ice, popsicles, and Coca-Cola cans; a bright and heavy yellow umbrella; two canisters of high SPF sunscreen (which Jemma later discovers is not as protective as it’s said to be in the commercials on television, after having done further research when speculation - more like Skye arguing with her on the subject matter - arises and the time calls for it, which also leads Jemma into a false sense of protection that her mother catches her in sometime in the future); miscellaneous trinkets the young girl can play with during her first day at the beach.

She expects it to be topless, accompanied with white sand and turquoise waters. Everything she’s ever read about in her books and dreamt of at night.

Boy, is she wrong.

She is staring at an expanse of blue-grey water, veiled with a thin sheen of fog that barely makes room for the pale bluebird-colored skyline she is always used to seeing from the perfect view at home. She stands on pebbles, not sand, which dig into the balls of her feet instead of sticking to her toes, like she thought would happen when she stepped out of the car and onto the shoreline for the first time.

After spending more time than she probably will at the beach itself unloading and dragging the cooler across the parking lot, “sand”, and to a relatively empty spot where a rotting picnic table sits, Jemma takes her first step into the sea.

It’s cold. She shrieks. She falls over.

She hears her mother laugh behind her. But it is everything she dreamt it would be.

She retreats from the tide for now, helping her mother lay out the towels and pitch the umbrella and lather sunscreen across the places she cannot reach, though it isn’t necessary now that she thinks about it. Still, she lets her apply it. They then break for lunch, and Jemma gobbles down the prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich she has packed in her brown bag, which has a hint of the homemade pesto aioli she is learning to prepare from her mother, which they decided earlier on to make only for special occasions. Today, obviously, is one of those days.

After going through roughly three cans of soda, her mother takes her hand and leads her back to the sea.

She decides to be positive for her mother, rather than expressing her thoughts on the rather… _exotic beach_ aloud. They step into the water, and Jemma shivers at the contact, squeezing her mother’s hand. She squeezes back. The lingering strength with her, she lets go, steadying herself before wading in further confidently, just until the water pools at her knees. A small smile graces her features as she breathes in the salty air, relishing in its tang, one she usually cannot find in the clammy city she calls home. She ghosts her fingers across the surface of the water, swaying along with the waves that lap at her legs, and she closes her eyes, finding a harmony with the sea she knows will be there.

When she opens them, she sees something.

It’s far away, and though Jemma can hardly make it out, she knows what she sees. It is a flash of blue, bluer than the ocean itself. It flaps and flails against the current, nothing like she has read about before.

No, she has read something like this. She recalls a faint memory of mythology books, of sirens and the merfolk. Other things she thought about, _dreamt_ about, before moving on from fantasy and into reality.

Maybe she should do a double take. Take a reality check. Come back to childhood. She has a whole life to live! This moment is calling her back to be just Jemma, not Simmons. She blinks, leaning forward, and inhales sharply. _She knows what she sees._

Before she can rush back to her mother and tell her of her discovery, the gleams disappear behind a line of rocks. The cove, on the opposing end of the beach. She takes a mental note to go there the next time she comes here. She stands still for a few more seconds, soft brown eyes fixed on the horizon. She grins to herself as the wind picks up, causing her hair to whip across her face. She pushes it away, thinking to herself, _I’m going to have to get this cut if I ever want to come back._

She turns away, about to head back and tell her mother to call it a day, but she cannot help but chance one last glance back to the ocean. Her smile is gone now, replaced with pressed lips and drawn brow, as she balls her fists and makes a promise to herself that in later years she would still uphold.

_I’m going to find that mermaid if it’s the last thing I do._

 

* * *

 

Jemma Simmons has high expectations for someone her age. The day she earns enough money from fieldwork to buy a beachfront on the shore she first visited eighteen years ago, she is excited. She stuffs everything she can into what little of a trunk she has: clothes; notebooks brimming with notes and pictures and scraps of all her research; two jars of seashells (which Jemma calls lucky and Daisy jokingly calls “stupid”); miscellaneous trinkets the girl would use to decorate her new home.

She expects it to be topless, accompanied with white sand and turquoise waters. Everything she’s ever read about in her books and dreamt of at night.

Boy, is she wrong.

She is staring at the expanse of blue-grey water that kisses the coast. It has adopted her for a little while, her mother having kicked her out of the house for being covert with what she was doing when she wasn’t around. But S.H.I.E.L.D. is starting to take away the ocean’s title. It was starting to become her new home.

Today, the mist that usually descends over the beach like a shadow has dissipated, and the backdrop is cloudless, pure. The sun’s beams run rampant through the skies, like golden stallions against the noon. She stands on pebbles, not sand, which dig into the balls of her feet instead of sticking to her toes, like she thought would happen when she stepped out of the car and onto the shoreline for the first time.

After spending more time than she probably will at the beach itself doing nothing but staring, Jemma takes a step into the sea.

This time, she warms up to the cold water quickly. She sways along with the waves that lap at her ankles, and she closes her eyes, finding a harmony with the sea she knows will be there.

When Jemma opens them, she sees… nothing.

Exactly what she’s been seeing for the past few years since she first visited. She grins to herself anyway as the wind picks up, causing her cropped hair to tickle her chin.

She turns away, about to head back and call it a day, but she cannot help but chance one last glance back to the ocean. Her smile is gone now, replaced with pressed lips and drawn brow, as she balls her fists and renews a promise that she’d made to a past version of herself, much more optimistic than the one she’s grown into.

_I’m going to find that mermaid if it’s the last thing I do._

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for about a year now. Sometimes, I'll think about trying to work it into something that won't take you a minute to read so that I can actually publish it, but I never get the right energy going to do that. I have my outline set; I just can't seem to get myself to start writing it, fleshing it all out. So, I impulsively decided tonight that I'd force myself to publish the exposition of it. If this doesn't work, then I honestly don't know what will.
> 
> A comment might have some affect on me though, so feel free to leave one. I always fall back in love with this piece every time I read it, so a critique would do a whole lot of good for me.


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